White Picket Fence
by acetamide
Summary: Written as a birthday present for my dear friend, kat lair. Sam's lumbered with something more than just a wound after a run-in with a surprisingly cooperative demon. MPreg. NOTE: keep note of all dates given, to keep track of time and age.
1. Part 1

_27__th__ April, 2008_

"Dean, I don't feel too good," Sam murmured as they slunk down the slope towards the cottage, torches flashing in the night sky. His brother looked at him over his shoulder, gun in one hand.

"Well, if you insist on eating gherkins, then you won't feel good, will you?" he retorted as they crept towards the front door. "You can take some soda when we finish the job."

"That was only half an hour ago, it can't be that."

Dean paused to turn and look at him.

"Dude, what else is it going to be?" he asked derisively, and turned back to the door, flipping out a knife. "Now stop being such a pussy and get ready."

"I am not being a pussy," Sam hissed back as Dean fiddled with the lock. "I know what indigestion feels like, and this is more than just indigestion!"

"Shut up, we're in," Dean shot back, and the door swung inwards silently, a pale light shining out and beckoning them. With a faint growl of annoyance, Sam followed his brother into the cottage.

It was just like any other small house – living room to the right, kitchen to the right, a closed door ahead and stairs snaking up the wall. Only there wasn't a family living here.

Dean checked the room ahead – a closet – and motioned upstairs. Sam's foot hit the bottom step.

"I'm up here!"

They froze, and Sam's eyes met Dean's.

"I've been waiting. Hurry up, I'm going to fall asleep soon."

Dean nodded, and they began their slow descent up the stairs, bottles of holy water at the ready, lids off. With the torches off, it was dark, and the shadows that filled the stairwell shifted slightly – trees moving in the wind.

"In here."

Sam tensed at the sound of the voice, and glanced at Dean. His brother nodded at the closest door, which was partly closed, and from which a soft light was coming.

They pushed the door open, guns and bottles brandished.

"You certainly took your time."

Dean blinked.

"What the hell?!"

Right in the centre of the room, on an armchair within a Trap, sat a smartly-dressed man with a mug of coffee. He looked perfectly at ease, and had loosened his blue tie. He smiled a wide, white smile, opening his steepled hands welcomingly.

"Sam and Dean Winchester. I've heard so much about you."

"There must be another hunter," Dean whispered to his brother, and the man laughed.

"No, no. It's just you two."

"Well, _someone _must have painted this Trap," Sam pointed out, and the man leaned forward.

"I did," he grinned, and his eyes rolled up into blackness.

"Wait, hold on. I'm not getting this," Dean said shortly, approaching the edge of the Trap. "You put _yourself_ in a Devil's Trap?"

"I certainly did," the demon replied, sounded extremely pleased with itself, and its eyes reverted back to normal. "It wasn't too easy, either."

"Screw this," Dean muttered, flipping the lid onto the bottle and setting it down on the floor. "Sammy, let's exorcise this scum back to where it belongs."

"Wait," Sam replied, not putting down his water. He fixed the demon with a hard look. "Why did you paint yourself into a Trap?"

"What does it matter?" Dean burst out. "He's a demon, and he's just made our job easier. Who cares why? Let's just banish his evil ass back to Hell."

"Dean, he can't harm us, he's in a Trap. We might as well find out why," Sam reasoned, and the demon chuckled. Dean glared at it.

"What do you think you're laughing at?" he bit out, and the demon smiled ferally.

"You. Sam's the only thing that's stopping you killing everything in your path, right?" he closed his eyes contentedly and leaned back into the chair. "And in answer to your question, Sam… think of it as a show of good faith."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asked sharply, and Dean whirled away to the window.

"You would never have listened to me if I could attack you. But now, you're curious. I can't harm you, so you're willing to give me the time of day."

"And why would we want to listen to you?" Dean spat, turning back to the demon.

"What do you –" Sam broke off as he doubled over, gasping in pain. "Shit Dean, I _really _don't feel good," he groaned, and Dean noticed the glint in the demon's eye as it watched his brother. In a flash, he whipped Sam's bottle from his grasp and splashed it at the demon.

"What the hell have you done to Sammy?" he snarled, and the demon cried out as its skin sizzled on impact, arms raised to protect its face. "What have you done to him?"

"I've done nothing," the demon replied angrily, standing abruptly. "It's what my boss has done to you that I'm here to talk about."

"Explain yourself, or I'll send you right back myself" Dean said coldly, and Sam stood straight, the pain in his abdomen ebbing.

"What's been done to me?" he gasped out, and the demon scowled.

"That's the precursor to morning sickness that you're feeling, Sammy. It'll only get worse."

There was a moment of silence that deafened Sam.

"What did you just say?" Dean whispered, and the demon settled more comfortably into its chair, a bored tone to its voice.

"You heard what I said. Your brother's currently pregnant with the Antichrist."

"Bullshit!"

"That's impossible," Sam declared, wincing slightly. "There is no Antichrist."

"More than that, you're a guy!"

"There is an Antichrist," the demon corrected them, sipping his coffee. "He'll be born in around eight months time, and there is very little that either of you can do about it."

"Do I not even get a choice in this?" Sam burst out, and the demon shrugged.

"If you had, would you accepted it?"

"No!"

"Precisely. We couldn't ask your permission. And before you ask why we chose your brother, Dean… we need someone strong enough to incubate Him," the demon said shortly, crossing its legs. "Sam's the most powerful human left, after Azazel's little stunt. If he just allows his gifts to develop, he'll be on a par with most of us."

"I don't want to be like you," Sam protested, arms gesturing wildly. "I never asked for these visions!"

"But they're so much _more_ than just visions, Sammy," the demon retorted mockingly, and Dean tensed at the use of the nickname. "It's telekinesis, electrokinesis, pyrokinesis, super-strength, persuasion, control over demons, and even –"

"I just said that I don't want them!" Sam shouted, coming dangerously close to the edge of the Trap. The demon's eyes glinted and it leaned forward on its chair.

"Don't you remember when you first used your telekinesis? The rush you got from the sheer power of it? Don't you want to feel that again?"

"How do I know that using them won't turn me evil? Won't turn me into a demon myself?"

"Come on, Sammy, you know it doesn't work like that. Besides, you've already got demon blood in you, how much worse can it get?"

"What?"

Sam sighed and looked away from Dean.

"When I was at Cold Oak… the Demon showed me what happened just before Mom died. He dripped his own blood into me, Dean."

"Well then how come you can walk through Traps? How come salt and iron and holy water don't hurt you, huh?" Dean shot at him, taking a few steps towards him. Sam backed away.

"Look, I don't know, OK? They just don't affect me. I'm still human, I've just got demon blood in me."

"That's the spirit, Sammy," the demon put in, folding his arms leisurely. "You know as well as I do that using your powers won't turn you into a demon. Just as incubating the child won't make you one either."

"There's a pretty major flaw in your plan though, asshole," Dean pointed out bluntly. "Sammy ain't got no uterus. He can't give birth to this kid."

The demon raised one perfectly-shaped eyebrow.

"You really think that he needs a uterus?"

There was a deafening silence.

"You're one sick son of a bitch," Dean hissed out, and the demon laughed.

"Calm down. Sam has a uterus for the duration of the pregnancy, and it'll disappear after like it was never there. Of course, we can't just create things like that easily though… he'll give birth via Caesarean section."

"Like hell he will," Dean shot back immediately. "There is no way that I'm letting you anywhere near him."

"Dean, wait," Sam said quietly, back to his brother, staring out of the window. He paused before turning to look the demon straight in the eye. "Why a human? Why can't it just be born? Why does it need to gestate?"

"Remind me why you aren't affected by salt and iron?" the demon demanded, tilting back on its chair. Sam glanced at Dean.

"Because I'm human. We've just been through this."

"Precisely," the demon agreed, and slammed back onto four legs. "Since He is gestating inside you, He'll be half human. But He won't be like me – I'm just using this body. No, His body will actually be a _part_ of him and so part of him will be human. And that part of him will be dominant, and stop simple deterrents from affecting Him. It's pretty ingenious, really."

"Are we expected to raise the thing?" Dean bit out, and the demon regarded him with an amused glint in its eye.

"He'll be collected at three in the afternoon on His eleventh birthday."

There was another moment of silence, and Dean sighed heavily.

"I guess we can't get out of this."

"If you try to kill Him, Sam will also be killed," the demon affirmed with a nod. "However, Sam will be immune to demonic and physical harm for the gestation period."

"Dean too," Sam said promptly, and the demon smirked.

"No. That's not part of the deal."

"Well then you'd better make it part of the deal," Sam spat, and the lights in the room flickered.

The demon glanced up at the ceiling and then leaned forward, eyes flaring black momentarily. It levelled his gaze at Sam, who was staring at it defiantly.

"Dean gets immunity from demonic harm. But that's it. As soon as He is born, he's back to normal."

"One more thing."

The demon tilted its head, curious, and Sam's eyes hardened.

"Dean's contract. I want it destroyed. Nobody is to come after him once his time's up."

"Now, I really can't do that –"

"You will do that," Sam snarled, and the floor trembled. "Or so help me, I'll kill myself and this thing growing inside me."

"I'm telling you, I can't arrange that!"

"Well then take me to someone who can," Sam hissed, and Dean reached out to touch his shoulder. "And maybe I won't exorcise your sorry ass right now."

The demon stood suddenly, stepping right up to the edge of the Trap, teeth bared. Sam didn't move away.

"It's your lucky day, Sammy," it growled, and with a sudden scream, its head shot back and the trademark black smoke hurtled from its mouth and shot toward the ceiling – only to be met by another enormous plume, crackling blue and purple, which replaced the original demon in a matter of seconds. Its eyes flared.

"Who are you?" Dean asked shortly, coming to stand beside Sam, and the demon's face cracked into a twisted smile.

"Exactly who you asked for."

"Then you know what my terms are."

"I do. And I have to tell you… your devotion to each other," the demon said mockingly. "It's sweet, it really is."

"I don't care what you think," Sam barked. "I want his contract gone."

The demon tilted its head and looked at them both. Something sparked in its eyes.


	2. Part 2

_10__th__ May, 2008_

"Sammy, duck!"

Sam dropped to the floor and the bullets went _thunk-thunk-thunk _into the wood directly above his head. He swore as a cramp shot through his abdomen, and crawled behind the nearest stack of crates as he heard one of the vampires climbing up the stairs directly above him. He wasn't sure where Dean was, but he could smell the coppery tang of blood, and hoped that it belonged to the others and not his brother.

Standing slowly, he tightened his grip on the stake clutched tightly in his right hand, and cast his eyes around the room. A few vampire bodies were littered around the warehouse floor, and some of the students that they'd come to rescue were with them. Sam felt a sharp pang of despair spike through him.

"Looks like I've got my last meal all sorted."

Sam whipped around to face the voice and was greeted by razor fangs framing a mouth that was streaming with blood, eyes red and pupils massively dilated, one hand drawn back and already hurtling through the air towards his head to knock him out and he wasn't quite sure what happened next. One minute, the vampire was about to punch him – and then suddenly he was being hurled backwards by some invisible force, some demonic force, and hit the a beam as he passed it with a sickening thud.

"Sammy!"

Dean jogged up to him, Colt in one hand and stake in the other, eyes blazing.

"I'm fine," Sam said calmly, pre-empting his brother's question. "I think I just used telekinesis."

"Did it hurt?" Dean asked urgently, and Sam shook his head.

"Nothing, not like before. Just cramps down there, but that's not linked to my powers."

Dean looked momentarily pensive.

"Unless…"

Sam looked up at him.

"What, it was the baby? Come on Dean, like that's going to happen."

"You know what the deal is."

"But still –"

"Look out!"

Dean pulled Sam down to the ground as another volley of shots rang overhead, and one of the people that they'd come to rescue shouted out in terror.

"Let's go," Sam said decisively, and his brother followed him with a nod toward the middle of the warehouse, slipping in between shadows with eyes darting this way and that, feet hunter-silent on the stone cold floor, draughts whipping around them as they passed an open doorway and Sam grunted, falling against the wall and hand grabbing his chest as the bang resounded throughout the building.

"Sammy!"

But there was no pain. There was no blood. Sam fended off Dean's frantic hands and pulled off his shirt, inspecting the area around his heart. He watched the area around his heart in fascination as the bullet was forcibly pushed out of his skin, metal cold and hard and unyielding and yet completely harmless. It fell to the floor with a dull click.

Sam looked up at Dean, and his eyes flared.

Ten minutes later, the black drained from them, and Dean took a step away from his brother, trying not to trip over the bodies of all the dead vampires.

* * *

_1__st__ July 2008_

"That is absolutely disgusting," Dean said, lip curling, as he slowed at the intersection. Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Am I asking you to eat it?" he asked, gesturing with the spoon, and Dean flinched away.

"Yeah, but I have to live with you when you get gassy, bro," he complained, shifting further away, and his brother rolled his eyes.

"It's stewed rhubarb, not dried prunes. And you're the gassy one around here."

"I just don't get why you'd want to eat it."

Sam's hand dropped and he glared at his brother in an annoyed fashion.

"It's a craving, Dean. People get them when they're pregnant."

"Women get them when they're pregnant. You're a guy, in case you'd forgotten," Dean shot back, and Sam scowled at him.

"Dean, I _am_ pregnant, whether you like it or not. My body's releasing mainly female hormones at the moment. That includes oestrogen, which is what causes PMT. So don't piss me off, OK?"

"Whoa, slow down a minute there buddy," Dean said placatingly, raising one hand defensively. "No need to go moody cow on me."

"Well then stop annoying me!" Sam snapped, and dug back into his rhubarb. Dean screwed up his nose, and concentrated on the road ahead of them. The Impala's headlights cut through the dark air and illuminated the landscape as they barrelled down the road and out of Sutherland.

"Can you feel him?" Dean asked, quite gruffly, after five minutes of silence.

"He's been kicking for a few weeks now," Sam muttered back. "Keeps me awake usually."

"What, every night?" Dean asked, covering his surprise, and cast a sharp glance at his little brother out of the corner of his eye. Sam nodded.

"Did you not wonder why I'm always up at stupid hours of the morning?" he asked archly, and Dean shrugged.

"Figured you just felt nauseous and were getting something for it. Does it hurt?"

"No. More uncomfortable than anything else when I'm trying to sleep."

Dean hesitated, and stared determinedly at the road.

"So is he kicking now?"

Sam didn't respond, and for a few sickening seconds Dean that he'd somehow offended him and he was going to go into a sulk. But then Sam reached out and took his right hand from the steering wheel, guiding it across the car and up his shirt to press against the now significant bump. His skin was warm.

"Feel him?"

He was about to say that no, he could feel nothing, until he felt the gentle pressure under his palm, and his face broke into a grin.

"So that's what it feels like?" he asked, looking away from the road and to his brother. He withdrew his hand and Sam dropped his shirt back down.

"Pretty much, yeah," he said wryly. "Except for the few times when it's as if he's trying to kick his way out of me," he caught Dean's concerned look. "Not that he does that often."

Dean frowned, and took a right turn.

"You know, we should probably refer to it as… well, 'it'. I mean, this is the goddamn _Antichrist_ we're talking about, not just some little toddler."

Sam sighed and picked up his rhubarb from where he'd deposited it on the Impala's floor.

"Dean, I'm not going to give birth to an 'it'," he said tiredly. "And for the first eleven years of his life, he's not going to be the Antichrist. He'll just be the next Winchester, that's all. We can raise him not to be evil, I'd reckon. Once he's taken away, we can't do anything more – but until then, we'll raise him as a Winchester."

Dean looked across at him as they approached the motel.

"We'd better do a good job then."

* * *

_12__th__ August 2008_

Dean stood up as there was a knock at the door. He glanced at Sam as he crossed the room, stomach churning nervously.

"How do you reckon he'll take it?" he asked, and his brother shrugged.

"He's seen pretty weird things, Dean. Once he gets over the initial shock…"

"I really hope so," Dean said gravely, and pulled the door open. Bobby was leaning against the frame, and he eyed them suspiciously.

"What is it that you boys need to see my about so urgently?" he asked warily, and Dean moved to the side, dropping his head to look down at his feet.

"You need to come in for this, Bobby," Sam advised. "I'd get up, only…"

"Only what?"

"Just come in," Dean replied bluntly. Bobby took one look at the expression on his face and stepped through the door, boots muddy and heavy, and Sam adjusted the blanket covering his abdomen. He pushed the toast that he'd been eating to the side, and Bobby watched him curiously.

"Sam, is that… peanut butter? And… treacle?"

"With pepper," Dean muttered, closing the door, and Sam stuck his tongue out.

"As I've already said, I'm not asking you to eat it, am I?"

"No, but I'm the one who has to go out at some ridiculous hour of the morning to get some more peanut butter when you get a bad craving!"

"I've always offered to go myself," Sam pointed out, and Dean scoffed, leaning against the side of the armchair that Sam was sat in.

"Yeah, like I'm going to let you out looking like you do."

"Guys, guys!" Bobby interrupted, and they looked up at him as though they'd forgotten that he was there. His eyebrows shot up. "Is it the Trickster again?" he asked, and Dean shook his head.

"Come on, you gotta show him," he said to Sam, and was met with a pained expression.

"Maybe we should explain first…?"

"That's not going to help, is it?"

"Explain what?" Bobby asked impatiently, and the brother shifted guiltily. "What do you mean, show me? And why can't Sam go out by himself? And why in hell's name is he eating peanut butter and treacle?"

They exchanged a look that seemed far too loaded for Bobby to comprehend, and with a sigh of resignation Sam pushed off the blanket and stood, lifting his shirt up.

"That's why," Dean said flatly, straightening up beside his brother, and Bobby tried to gather his thoughts without saying something completely inappropriate. He was struggling.

"It's the Antichrist," Sam explained, dropping his shirt. "I'm five months gone. We can't get out of it, either – if he dies, so do I. We figured it was safest just to go with it, we only have to raise him until his eleventh birthday."

"And what, you didn't even _try_ to get out of this?" Bobby suddenly shouted, outraged, and Dean took an almost imperceptible step to stand between them.

"Not as simple as that," he said curtly, and with an incredulous look at the two of them, Bobby whirled around and sat down heavily.

"I need a goddamn beer."

Dean complied hurriedly as Sam back down, reaching for his toast. Bobby tried forcibly not to think about the fact that the youngest Winchester looked almost radiant, and they both seemed better off for this unfortunate turn of events.

"I think you'd better start at the beginning," he said tiredly, and pretended not to notice Dean's hand lingering on Sam's shoulder as he handed the beer to him.

* * *

_20__th__ November, 2008_

"You reckon he can hear me?" Dean asked quietly, raising his eyes to Sam's. His brother shrugged.

"Yeah. Hearing is the first of the senses to develop, he's been able to hear my heartbeat for a few months now. Talking to him won't hurt, you know."

Dean looked as though he was going to step away, but then suddenly dropped to the floor, settling himself between Sam's legs and pressed the side of his head to his stomach. He felt Sam chuckle gently, and his brother reached down to pull up his t-shirt. Dean blinked at the sight of the huge bump.

"Dude. You look like a woman."

"Surprisingly, yeah," Sam said wryly. "I'm eight months pregnant."

"It sounds so weird to hear you say that."

"Trust me, it feels even weirder to say it myself. Go on. Talk to him."

Dean hesitated, then leaned forwards again, ear firmly pressed to Sam's warm belly. For the few second, there was nothing, and then suddenly the whump-whump of the tiny heart pumping inside his brother was audible. He grinned widely.

"Hey there buddy. This is your uncle," he paused to twist his head and look up at Sam, ear still pressed to the soft skin. "I'll be seeing you soon."

* * *

_24__th__ December, 2008_

"Dude! I am not holding your hand," Dean said derisively, backing away from where Sam was lying on the dirty mattress. The small Christmas tree glinted merrily on the other side of the motel room.

"_Damn _it, Dean!" his little brother shouted, eyes flashing black, and Dean's hand grasped his tightly. Sam's fingernails dug in.

"You do realise that this will make you the only guy on the planet who knows what this feels like, right?" Dean asked, reaching up to wipe the sweat from Sam's brow, trying to distract him. His brother scowled.

"That's not funny," he ground out through gritted teeth. With a growl of impatience, he threw his head back onto the pillow. "God, where the Hell are they? I thought they were going to be here! If they don't cut me open soon –"

"Whoa, really did not need that mental image," Dean said gruffly, and closed his eyes in disgust.

"Yeah, well you'll be getting a physical image soon. Provided they get their asses up here!" Sam snarled, and as he spat out the last word, there was a great rumbling and the floor beneath them began to tremble.

Sam glanced up at the Trap painted above them, then flinched as another sharp pain lanced through his abdomen. Dean's grip tightened on his hand.

Snow began to fall outside.

The clock in the sheriff's office one block down struck midnight, and Sam's scream pierced the air.


	3. Part 3

_25__th__ December 2008_

Sam's eyes drifted closed as he felt his stomach begin to return to its natural state, and resisted the urge to look down at the gaping hole. He felt the demons touch his skin, felt the tissue and muscle knit itself back together, felt the uterus that he had been gifted with disappear, hear Dean talking all the time. He wasn't saying anything in particular, just soothing words and pointless statements, one hand still pushing his hair back from his sweaty forehead. He couldn't hear the baby crying – was it dead? Was it ever alive in the first place? He felt Dean tense beside him, and cracked open his eyes.

"Here He is. He will be collected in exactly eleven years and fifteen hours."

Sam took the white bundle without hesitation, sitting up better and shifting the small infant. He pushed back the white cloth and stared.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't what he was faced with. What was staring up at him with starling clear blue eyes was not a screaming, wailing, blue-limbed and bald form of flesh – it was a golden-haired, clean, beautiful baby, silent as anything, and staring as intensely as Dean sometimes did. Sam was momentarily dumbstruck.

"Pretty cute for a baby, huh," Dean put in, still sitting up by Sam's shoulder, and the baby curled up into a ball, pressing his face into Sam's chest and closing his eyes.

"He's gorgeous."

"He's not yours."

Sam looked up sharply at the demon that was still stood on the far side of the room, the same one that had given them the news nine months ago. It was leaning against the wall, arms folded, a stern expression on its face.

"I just gave birth to him. I would say that qualifies him as mine."

"Just do not forget that He will be collected eleven years from now."

"I won't," Sam said forcefully, and looked back down.

"What are you going to call him?" Dean asked roughly as Sam gazed at the blond infant fondly where he was sleeping in his arms.

"Do I get a choice?" he asked simply, and the demon shrugged its shoulders.

"I haven't been told otherwise. He has His own demonic name, one that His Father will use to call Him. But I suppose He can have a human's name too."

Sam looked up at his brother, and Dean stepped forward to lay one hand on the top of the soft head. The baby snuffled and reached out one tiny hand in his sleep to grasp one of his fingers as he tried to withdraw it. Dean's eyes met Sam's.

* * *

_29__th__ January, 2009_

"Sammy? You hungry?" Dean called through to the bedroom, head in the fridge. It smelt stale. "Sammy?"

Frowning at the lack of response, he shut the door and stood quickly, drawing his gun deftly as he slipped into the bedroom, hazel eyes darting around quickly, heart beating painfully loudly, adrenaline spiking his blood.

He saw Sam lying on his side on the bed, one arm curled around Adam, pulling him into his chest, and lowered his gun with a small sigh. The infant was sucking his thumb, snuffling slightly, and when he let out a small cry in his sleep Sam's enormous hand tightened on his back.

Walking over to the bedside, he sat down, sinking into the soft duvet that Sam and Adam were settled on and reaching out one hand to gently stroke Adam's hair with one finger, smiling fondly at the baby. It took him a good few minutes to realise that Sam was gazing straight back at him, eyes sleep-filled and heavy and warm and loving.

"You going to stare at him all night?" he whispered, and Dean shrugged slightly.

"I could. Pretty easily. You'd give him a second glance on the street, sure, but only because he's a damned good-looking kid. Not because he's the friggin' Antichrist," he muttered, and Sam took hold of his hand, pulling him down onto the bed so that he was facing his brother over the small body.

"Is he OK?" Dean asked, concern tinting his voice, as Adam let out a small cry in his sleep. Sam smiled.

"He's fine, just dreaming."

"And this thing you've got going on with him?" Dean gestured between them. "This psychic link?"

"It's not telepathy, Dean," Sam said wryly, and his brother shrugged. "It's just an… advanced bond between mother and child. I can't read his mind. It's just emotions, really."

"Whatever."

They lay in silence for a minute, no sound between them but the gentle snuffling of the baby in between them, both of them breathing completely in sync.

"How long do you reckon until he starts manifesting?" Sam asked quietly, and Dean knew what he meant. He hesitated, looking down at the child sleeping so peacefully between them, tiny fist grasping the collar of Sam's t-shirt.

"No idea. Could be straight away. Unconscious stuff, you know. He'll probably need to learn to control it," he paused and shifted closer, one hand covering Adam's small pink legs. "I guess we'll just have to deal with it when it happens."

"But what if we can't?" Sam asked, his voice laced with worry. "What if he's too powerful? What if he's visited by a demon, and they get him to attack us? What if he turns evil? What if –"

Dean silenced him, moving his hand to cover his brother's on Adam's back.

"Sammy. You're his _mom_. He'll do as you tell him to, whether he likes it or not."

The corner of Sam's mouth twitched, and Dean reached up to ruffle his hair gently.

"So does that make you his dad then?" Sam asked jokingly, and Dean grinned.

"I'd say it makes the Devil his dad, to be honest."

"Adoptive dad?"

"Deal."

Their eyes met, and something passed between them that they'd never be able to put a name to, even if they'd tried. A content smile crept across Sam's face and he closed his eyes, fingers reaching out to twine with Dean's. He spoke again, his voice a tired murmur.

"So I was thinking…"

"Don't hurt yourself."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"I was thinking that we ought to get a place. You know, rent somewhere or something until Adam's old enough. Get him an education. We owe him that at least."

"We never got a real one, and we turned out OK."

"Well, this is different," Sam shot back, his eyes cracking open with a disapproving look. "When Adam tells me that he's scared of the thing in the closet, I'm not handing him a .45, OK? I want him to be as normal as he can."

"But… we can still teach him the stuff, right? Only he won't last long without it," Dean pointed out, sitting up briefly to pull off his jacket and slip his belt out through the loops, kicking off his boots.

"Yeah, we'll teach him it. Though I doubt many demons will come after us once they find out who he is. And I guess we'll start hunting again as soon as we can?"

"You bet," Dean agreed, and Adam rolled over in his sleep to push his face into the crook of his dad's arm. "We can take him along with us."

"Yeah, we can. But until then, I want him to be normal."

Dean looked up to meet his brother's gaze, frowning slightly.

"I don't get why you care so much. I mean, he's the friggin' Antichrist. We hunt and kill things like him every day of our lives. He ain't really your son."

"If you'd had to haul him around for nine months, you wouldn't be saying that he wasn't your son," Sam pointed out wryly, and Dean was forced to agree. "Besides, if I can get just one of them on my side? I'll be glad. It's one less to be afraid of."

"You still afraid, Sammy?"

Sam's eyes met his once more, and they'd rarely been more serious.

"Hell yeah. Aren't you?"

Dean sighed heavily and reached out for his brother, wrapping him in an embrace, Adam warm and solid and real between them. Sam relaxed into his grip.

"Sometimes, dude. But I'm more scared of losing you," he whispered.

Sam was asleep within five minutes, one hand twined with Dean's, the other on his son's back.

* * *

_5__th__ March, 2009_

"How long do we have to do this for?" Dean asked grumpily as he took Sam's hand in his own, pricking the tip of his finger gently. The midday light streamed in through the window, despite the curtains that they'd put up, and Sam was strategically facing the baby's head away from the brightness.

"I'll wean him off my blood once he's six months old, so he's not drinking it as much. And it's only thirteen drops, it's hardly as if I'm bleeding to death," Sam replied dryly as Dean squeezed his finger carefully. Thirteen ruby-red droplets swirled in the pint of milk, tainting it ready for Adam to drink. Dean poured it carefully into the bottle and shook it vigorously.

"So what'll he drink then?" he asked as he handed the bottle to Sam, and his brother shifted the baby in his arms. The armchair had come with the flat when they moved in, and wasn't particularly comfortable.

"Just plain milk. You're not supposed to move them onto it until they're twelve months old, but considering we've been feeding him on my blood for three months, I don't think it's really an issue," Sam replied as Adam's tiny fingers grasped the bottle, eyes wide and staring straight up into Sam's as he was fed.

"Dude. How do you know these things?" Dean asked, his lip twitching, and Sam's eyes didn't move away from his son.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, how do you know that you're meant to wait twelve months before feeding him plain old cow's milk?"

"I read it."

"You read it?"

"Yeah, I read it," Sam said tiredly, and finally looked up at his brother. "I got some stuff delivered here. It's not as if I could ask anyone else for advice, was it?"

"Wait, you're saying that there are _parenting_ magazines in this flat?" Dean asked derisively, and Sam pulled a face.

"Stop saying it like it's a bad thing. I needed to know what to do."

"Well I'm sorry, but it's kinda weird, you know?"

"Dean, what in our lives isn't weird?" Sam shot back moodily, and the other man shrugged.

"I'm just saying, that's all."

"Well you can take him now; I need to go to the bathroom."

Dean nodded and leaned over his brother, hands reaching around the bundle to lift him from Sam's chest and against his own, careful not to drop the bottle. He took a deep breath as Sam stood and moved across the room, and almost gagged.

"You son of a bitch!" he gasped, eyes watering, and Sam hurried the last few metres, grinning widely. "That stinks!"

"I could feel him working up to it," Sam shot back cheekily, and half-closed the bathroom door. "Besides, it's your turn anyway."

"It's not a matter of turns!" Dean protested, but Sam just kept on grinning.

"That really needs sorting out. He could get diaper rash," he pointed out, and shut the door. Scowling, Dean turned to his son.

"My God, you are one stinky asshole."

"Don't insult my kid!" Sam called from the bathroom, and Dean's forehead bunched up in annoyance. He set Adam down on the mat in front of the fireplace, and tried to hide the small smile that was playing on his face.

* * *

_16__th__ August, 2009_

"Dean, can you just hold Adam for a minute?" Sam asked distractedly as he strode into the room, the Antichrist settled firmly on his hip, holding his phone in his other hand. "I need to go outside to get signal, and it's raining."

"Sure man," he replied slowly, heaving himself up and out of the low armchair and taking the smiling infant from his brother's arm. "Who you calling?"

"Just Bobby," Sam replied absently, and shut the door behind himself. Dean waited for a beat before setting Adam down on the floor next to the cushions that were laid out and crept to the window, silently easing it open and pressing his ear to the gap in an attempt to hear the conversation over the hissing rain.

"…Adam John Winchester… nope, none… what do you think, Bobby?… well I'll talk to him, but I can't see him being happy… how long?… I already said I'm good, I'm not the one you need to worry about… yeah, I'll ring you tomorrow… will do… bye."

Dean frowned, and Adam tottered over to him on unsteady feet. Why did Bobby need Adam's full name? What would he not be happy about? He peered out through the darkness to Sam, who was glaring out into the wilderness, and started to close the window.

"Da!"

Dean was so startled that he dropped the window and it slammed shut, but he didn't care. With a huge grin on his face, he reached down and swept Adam up onto his hip, and the baby giggled. "Da!"

He looked up as the door banged back open and Sam stormed in, rain dripping from his hair and down his neck.

"Hey Sammy! Our kid said his first word!" he said cheerfully, and his grin didn't slip as his brother scowled at him.

"You were listening into the conversation, Dean," he said bluntly, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it up. "It was private."

"Never mind that!" Dean replied dismissively, and held Adam out to him. "He said my name."

"Dean, that was just a noise. And besides, he said 'da', not 'Dean'."

"I think you'll find it was 'dad'. And we agreed that I was his Dad."

"It was just a noise, Dean," Sam replied tiredly, and sat down, leaning his head against the back of the sofa. "And this is not the point! You were listening in, weren't you?"

"Yeah, I was. And?" he replied gruffly, sitting down in the armchair opposite, Adam bouncing on his knee. "What were you talking to Bobby about?"

"I was just settling something. But you really need to stop doing things like that!"

"What were you settling? Why won't I be happy about it?" Dean shot back, as Adam settled himself against his chest. "Come on, Sammy! Tell me, dammit."

Sam paused for a moment, scowling heavily, and then sighed and turned to lay down on the couch.

"Bobby's got a job for us."

"So?" Dean asked, with a small shrug, cradling Adam. Sam closed his eyes.

"It's in England."

There was a silence so sharp that Sam thought it might cut him, and he looked down so that he wouldn't have to look Dean in the eye.

"And you've agreed to it," he stated, flatly, and Sam ran an enormous hand through his hair.

"It's a vampire clan, he can't handle them by himself."

"Well why couldn't he have gotten someone else to help him?" Dean asked aggressively, and Sam sank lower into the couch. "There's plenty of other hunters out there who aren't trying to raise a goddamn baby, and he's got the Colt, for Christ's sake!"

"I agreed because we owe him! And I didn't see any reason why we couldn't!" Sam retorted, folding his arms and glowering at his brother, whose eyebrows shot towards his hairline.

"You couldn't see any reasons why not? Sammy, Adam is the eight-month-old Antichrist. What if he starts playing up on the plane? Everybody on it could die. You could die."

"He's proved already that he can save us both if he needs to."

"Well what about the Impala? Do you expect me to just leave it lying around here?"

"We can take what we need, and leave the Impala here. Nobody's going to touch it."

"I don't like planes Remember what happened last time?"

"Dean, that was a specific demon attack," Sam shot back reasonably. "And if you really want, we can spike all the drinks with holy water just to be sure."

"Well what've we got to do with England? Why's Bobby over there? Surely they have their own hunters."

Sam sighed and stood slowly, crossing the room to Dean and kneeling down on the floor beside him. He reached out one hand and gently stroked the top of Adam's head as he dozed.

"You're grasping at straws. Plane leaves at ten tomorrow morning."

Dean glared at Sam for a moment longer, but his little brother didn't take his eyes of his son. He sighed, and his eyes softened resignedly.

"How long is the flight?"

* * *

_30__th__ August, 2009_

"He's very well behaved."

Sam looked up, startled, at the middle-aged woman sat next to him and tried to focus on her through sleep-blurred eyes. Dean snorted noisily on his other side.

"Thanks," he replied with a smile once he'd processed what she'd said. "He's never been any trouble."

"Well, I'm sure he'll give you Hell when he's a bit older," the woman said conspiratorially with a wink, and Sam felt himself smirk despite himself. "How old is he?"

"Eight months. Said his first word two weeks ago."

"Oh, how fantastic!" she enthused, cheeks rosy with too much blusher. "What did he say?"

"Well, we think he said 'Dad', but it's debatable," he said quietly, and Dean shifted beside him. Adam stared up at him, sucking greedily on the bottle that he'd prepared furtively in the toilet just ten minutes ago when he'd felt the link tug slightly as Adam demanded a drink.

"I bet his mother is so proud."

Sam winced slightly, and tightened his hold on the infant.

"I'm sure," he agreed, and Dean snorted himself awake beside him. "She… died in childbirth."

"Oh my dear, I'm so terribly sorry!" she replied immediately, one ring-laden hand gripping his left arm. Adam paused to look up at her. "Are you raising him all by yourself?"

"No. No, he's not."

Sam turned so quickly to look at Dean that his neck cracked painfully.

"I'm his brother."

The woman looked slightly taken aback for a moment, but soon recovered herself, and smiled brightly.

"Well it's great that you have such a supportive family. What's he called?"

"Adam. His name's Adam."

"What a beautiful name."

Sam instinctively looked up as the pilot's voice crackled gently over the system, and Dean glared past him at the woman.

"We will soon be beginning our descent into Topeka Airport. We expect to land in about half an hour."

Sam looked down at Adam, who was quite finished with his bottle and had his face pressed into the crook of his arm. He smiled to himself and put the bottle away, glancing up at Dean. His brother was regarding him with an inscrutable expression.

"I'm gonna try and get some sleep 'til we land," he said to Dean, and pressed the button to lean his seat back, settling Adam more comfortably against his chest. He closed his eyes and felt Dean pull the complimentary blanket up over them both gently.

"I'll keep watch."

Sam was going to tell him that they were on a plane, he didn't need to keep watch – but he was so tired that he couldn't quite manage it, and he realised that Dean would keep watch even if they were in Heaven and there was nothing to keep watch for.


	4. Part 4

_25th August, 2012_

"But _muuuuuum_!" Adam whined as they pulled up outside the house. "I don't want to go!"

"I know you don't," Sam replied patiently as Dean turned off the ignition. "But everybody in your class is expected to go, and we've got no good reason not too."

"I hope there's free food."

"Dean. This is an opportunity for us to get to know our kid's teachers and other parents in his class, not for you to eat."

"It's a barbecue, dude. It's basically the same thing," Dean shot back dismissively, and climbed out of the car. Sam rolled his eyes good-naturedly and copied him, opening Adam's door to help the youngster out of his seat.

"You'll make new friends, Adam," he insisted. "Then you won't be all alone when you start school, will you?"

"But what if I don't _like_ anybody…"

"Come on, you'll be fine," Sam replied jovially and took Adam's hand in his own as they ascended the steps onto the porch of the large house. Laughter and chattering could be heard weaving its way from the back, and there were already plenty of cars littering the street. "Just introduce yourself to some people."

"Hello!"

Dean looked up sharply as a slender woman with dark blonde hair opened the door in front of them. Her eyes immediately shot to Adam, who was trying to hide behind Sam's long legs.

"Hi there," Dean replied warmly, holding out his hand. She shook it firmly.

"Hello there, my name is Hilary Norton. And who do we have here?" she asked kindly, and Sam used his grip on Adam's small hand to pull him forwards.

"This is Adam Winchester," he informed her, and used his knee to push his son forward. "Adam, say hello to Mrs Norton. Her husband will be your teacher next week."

"Hello," Adam muttered, staring at the ground, and Dean chuckled.

"In two weeks, you'll wish you'd never met him. He can be a little devil when he wants to be," he said loudly, and Adam looked up at him. His eyes glinted. "He's just being a wuss."

"I'm not a wuss!" Adam snapped, and Dean felt an invisible grip on his wrist as Adam's temper rose. He winced, and Sam picked up on the almost imperceptible reaction.

"Adam, behave," he said warningly, and his son looked up at him sullenly. The grip on Dean's wrist vanished.

"We'll just go through to the back, where everybody else is," Hilary said warmly as she showed them into the house. Perfect family photos of her along with her husband and two children furnished the walls in the hallway as they made their way to the conservatory. Dean snaffled a cocktail sausage from a plate as they passed through the kitchen.

"Now, go and make some friends," Sam pressed as they stepped onto the patio. Other children were running around and laughing whilst their parents stood to one side, chatting away to each other.

"I don't want to…"

"Now, kid," Dean said shortly. "Or I'll break your bedroom's salt line."

"Excuse me?"

Dean shrugged at Hilary's confused face as Adam trudged off in the direction of the other children.

"Just something we say. Empty threat, I'd never go through with it of course," he said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Sam closed his eyes.

"Dean, go and get some food."

Dean's face lit up.

"I can't believe you just said that to me. I think that's a new one for you."

"Just go, OK?"

"I'm going…"

Sam shook his head fondly as Dean made a beeline for the buffet table, and quickly cast his eyes over the children. Adam was talking to a blonde girl, and his spirits lifted. Hilary watched Dean's back as he went, and looked up at Sam.

"I take it you're Adam's father?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am. I'm Sam."

"What about his mother?"

"I'm afraid she died in childbirth," Sam said, trying for a glimpse of sorrow in his voice as he came out with the now well-rehearsed lie.

"Oh, how terrible for him."

"It's OK. He's pretty well-adjusted."

"What was his mother's name?"

At this, Sam drew a blank. In the last four years, he'd not once been asked that. He looked around the garden for Dean's assistance and saw him heading back, plate filled with food and chewing on a burger. He realised that he was being watched and grinned.

"Uh… Mary. Her name was Mary."

"And your partner's name…?"

Dean choked on the burger and Sam shot him a glance.

"No, Dean's my brother. We raised him together after his mom died."

"Well, I'm sure he'll fit in fine with the other children," she replied decisively. She paused as her a man stepped over to them and peered over her shoulder. "Hey sweetie," she said affectionately, and gestured to the brothers. "This is Sam and Dean Winchester, Adam's dad and uncle."

"Great to meet you," Norton said with no great enthusiasm but looking very uncomfortable. "And I'd love to talk to you both later, but right now, could you please sort out your son? He's talked the other children into storming the buffet table, it's kind of awkward."

Dean leaned to one side to see around them. The children were attacking all the parents and worming their way between them, descending upon the table en masse. Adam was stood imposingly on a rock, shouting out orders. Dean grinned.

"Boy after my own heart."

"Dean!" Sam bit out. "This is what we're trying to avoid, remember?" he hissed as they jogged over to the table. "One minute four-year-olds, next minute demons?"

"Dude, calm down. We've got seven years to sort him out."

"These things start early," Sam growled back and reaching out, swept Adam up into his arms and off the rock.

"OK guys, stop with the attacking," Dean called over the heads of the children, and they completely ignored him, quite intent upon eating as much of the food as possible. Sam sighed.

"Adam, call them off," he said shortly, and after a moment's stubbornness, Adam stuck his head over Sam's shoulder.

"Stop now!" he yelled, and the children did, immediately returning to the games that they'd been playing. Dean's face twisted wryly as they walked back to the Nortons, and Sam shifted Adam onto his hip. He was getting heavy – he wouldn't be able to do this for much longer.

"Well," Hilary said flatly as they approached. "He certainly has some leadership qualities."

Sam scowled at her.

* * *

_25__th__ December, 2016_

"Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday, Adam," Sam said warmly as he handed his son a long, neatly-wrapped gift. Dean smiled as Adam took it, face full of excitement and joy. "It's from both of us."

"What is it?" Adam asked merrily, shaking the heavy package carefully and feeling along it.

"Something that we think you're old enough for," Dean hinted, and scowled as one of the trimmings fell from the ceiling and onto his head.

"What do I need that's this shape?" Adam asked Sam as Dean stood on a chair to fix the trimmings. The tree glittered behind them.

"Open it and look."

Dean sneaked on of his son's chocolates (from a girl in his class – Sam thought it was cute. Dean said it was stupid) as Adam ripped at the wrapping, quickly disposing of it all and revealing a gleaming, double-barrelled shotgun that was nearly as long as Adam was tall.

"Reckoned you're old enough to have your own," Dean said gruffly, leaning back in his chair and setting his feet on the coffee table. Sam resisted the urge to darn the holes in his socks. "I'll help you saw off the end."

"This is awesome," Adam replied reverently, laying the gun down across his lap and running his hand up the barrel. "It's great."

"Yeah, well… couldn't have you using ours all our lives, could we?"

"It's great. Seriously, Mom," Adam enthused, leaping up off the floor to envelop Sam in a massive hug. "It's the best present ever."

"Your shotgun's digging into my ribs."

* * *

_4__th__ February, 2018_

"I said no, Adam!" Sam shouted as a tennis ball hurtled through the kitchenette and hit the cupboard door with a resounding thud, narrowly missing his head. His son followed it through, blue eyes sparking mischievously.

"I won't break anything, I promise!" he said flippantly, stretching out a hand. The tennis ball leapt up into it. Sam growled under his breath.

"You nearly just broke my nose. I've told you, no telekinesis inside."

"Yeah, but you also say no telekinesis in public. So tell me when the hell I am allowed to use it, Mom," Adam shot back moodily, opening the fridge door.

"You're allowed to do it when we're outside and alone," Sam replied in a bored tone. "We've had this conversation a hundred times over."

"You're such a hypocrite!" Adam burst out, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. "I saw you using electrokinesis the other day, when you and Dad were investigating that warehouse."

"That's different – we were on a hunt, and we needed lights!"

"Is there a problem here?" Dean asked as he peered around the doorframe, beer in one hand. "Only I can't hear the TV over you two squabbling like a pair of pigeons."

"Adam was using his telekinesis inside again," Sam said with a sigh, and Dean's glance flicked between the two of them.

"Yeah? And? What do you want me to do about it?"

Sam's jaw dropped.

"I want you to help discipline him!" he said, shocked, and Dean just shrugged.

"He's your son."

"Oh, so he's mine when he's misbehaving? God, Dean, we kind of agreed to share the responsibility when we took this on."

"Look out!"

Sam whipped around, more at the fear in his son's voice than anything else, and saw the glint of a wayward knife as it hurtled towards Dean in the doorway. He didn't think twice. Didn't consider his moral standing where this type of thing was concerned. Didn't really take in the blank look on Dean's face that soon became terror and realisation that he could never move in time. He just blinked, and the knife dropped to the ground. There was a moment of silence.

"Eyes, Sammy."

Sam blinked again and the black drained from his irises. He turned to Adam, slow and furious.

"_That_ is why you don't use your powers inside," he said coldly, and Adam flinched, eyes downcast. "You could have killed your Dad. Pull a stunt like that again and I swear down I'll Trap you."

"It was an accident," Adam muttered, kicking the counter. "I was aiming for the ball."

Sam glanced at where the ball was resting beside the knife rack.

"That was your last warning. Go and pack your things. We're leaving in the morning."

Sam and Dean watched their son's retreating back as he made his way down to his room. Dean sighed heavily and walked back to the sofa, sprawling himself out on it. Sam followed and settled himself with his back to Dean's chest. They half-lay in silence for a short while, breathing in sync, not really watching the show that ran in saturated colours in front of them, wooden lines falling dead like the creatures that their son had been born to command. Sam closed his eyes, and felt Dean's fingers twine through his.

"Kids, huh."

* * *

_25__th__ December, 2019_

"Fifteen minutes," Dean muttered, checking his watch, and Sam sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair.

"And what? I just go?"

"I don't know how this is going to work any better than you do, Adam," Sam replied tiredly as Dean dug into the windowsill just across the room. "I just know that they're coming for you."

"Well, what if I don't want to go?"

Dean looked up from where he had broken through to the ridge within the sill that was filled with salt and they'd subsequently re-surfaced.

"I don't reckon you got a choice, dude," he admitted, and blew the salt out of the ridge. "I mean… this is kind of your destiny."

"Well what about Mom?" he asked bluntly, and Sam's eyebrows shot up questioningly. "Wasn't his destiny to lead the army of demons?"

"That was different," Sam shot back, his head falling back on the sofa. "I wasn't born to do that, I had a choice."

"I'd say you were born for it," Adam retorted, standing up from his chair to sit next to Sam on the couch. The man straightened up and looked his son in the eye. "If you can just say no, why can't I?"

"Because you're the _Antichrist_, Adam," Dean pressed, settling on the arm of the couch. "There was more than one like Sammy, but you're the only one. Besides," he pulled a face, "Why don't you want to do it?"

Adam scowled and folded his arms petulantly.

"My parents are hunters. I've seen what these things do to people. I don't want to lead them as an army, it's not right."

Dean blinked, and looked at Sam, startled.

"Well Sammy, we managed to raise the anti-Antichrist," he said wryly, and Sam dipped his head, smiling.

"Even so, Adam… I don't think you can get out of this," he said quietly, and Adam's face fell.

"But I don't want to go to Hell!" he wailed, and Sam held out his arm. The young boy crawled across the sofa and under the proffered arm, burying his face into his chest, Sam's arm warm and loving and protective wrapped around him.

"They'll chase you down if you don't go with them," he murmured into Adam's hair, and Dean joined them on the couch. "There's no way you could escape them."

"You and Dad used to travel around though, didn't you?" Adam asked tearfully, voice muffled. "Before I was born, you never stayed in one place, did you?"

"But we haven't been moving around since you were born," Dean pointed out.

"What's to stop us starting again?"

The ground beneath them started to tremble, and Sam's eyes met Dean's over the trembling body of their son.

By the time the demons arrived two minutes later, the flat was empty.

The Impala screeched down the highway.


	5. Epilogue

_16__th__ May, 2024_

"This had better be important," Dean muttered as they sat side by side in the waiting room. "If that thing gets to this place, it could wreak havoc."

"I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason for them calling us down here," Sam whispered back. "And it must be pretty serious for them to bother in the first place, right?"

"Seriously, if this is something petty like stealing another kid's lunch money…"

"Mr Winchester?"

Dean and Sam both stood up as the secretary leaned over her desk, glasses dangling on a chain around her neck. She frowned at them.

"I'm sorry, which of you is here to see Principal Ellis?" she asked, voice slightly confused and mildly inquisitive. Dean looked at Sam and shrugged.

"Both of us, I guess," he said back to the secretary with a grin, and she blushed. Sam rolled his eyes.

"I'm sorry, but Principal Ellis specifically wanted to speak to Sam Winchester," she insisted, and Dean's face hardened.

"We've both raised him," he said sharply, and Sam looked down at the floor. "I reckon I got as much right as anyone else to hear what's going on."

"Well… I don't suppose it would matter too much… they're in there." she replied nervously, and indicated to a door off to their left.

"Hey Dad," Adam said in a bored tone as they walked through the door, his head lolling on the back of the chair whilst the Principal cast him a disapproving look. "What took you so long?"

"Hey!" Dean shot back, reaching out and whacking him on the head. "Manners, boy."

"Afternoon gentlemen," Ellis stood up and leaned over the desk and shook their hands. "I'm glad you came, Mr Winchester."

"How come you're here anyway?" Adam asked sullenly, straightening up, and Dean and Sam sat on the couch next to him. "I reckoned you would have sent Mom alone."

"Yeah, well…"

"I'm sorry," the Principal interrupted. "I thought Adam's mother died in childbirth?"

"She did," Sam replied quickly, giving both Adam and Dean warning looks. Ellis turned to him imposingly.

"And you are?"

Sam blinked.

"I'm his father."

"I'm still somewhat confused here."

"He's my dad," Adam explained shortly, indicating to Sam. "And he's my uncle. Only as far as I'm concerned, they're Mom and Dad. OK?"

"Hey."

"Right," Ellis said, his tone dubious, and looked down at the piece of paper on his desk. "But anyway… I've asked you to come down to discuss something that I found Adam doing in the lunch hall. I think he scared quite a few of the younger students."

Dean looked at his son sharply.

"You been doing things we've said not to again?" he snapped, and Adam glared at him.

"Dean, listen," Sam admonished gently, and the Principal cleared his throat, reaching into his drawer and pulling out a piece of string. He handed it to Sam.

"He was giving these out to some of the students. Told them that they had to wear them, or else a monster would come and possess them, and make them kill their parents. When I asked, they refused to take them off. Now, I might expect this from someone in elementary school, but really – Adam's sixteen now, he shouldn't be making up stories that could quite honestly terrify the younger children…"

He broke off as he saw Dean smile at Sam as the younger man passed him the amulets.

"I'm proud of you, kiddo," he said gruffly, and Sam ruffled Adam's hair. The Principal was dumbfounded.

"Am I to assume that you are condoning this type of behaviour?" he asked incredulously, and Sam fixed him with an intense look.

"I'd advise that you don't try and take those amulets off the children, not until next week at the very least. Our son has probably just saved the lives of at least three people."

"Excuse me?" Ellis spluttered, and Adam grinned.

"We'll be leaving now, Principal, if that's all," Dean smirked, and the three of them stood up.

"Well…"

"Thought so."

Ellis watched in shock as the small family walked over to the door, and his breath caught as Sam's jacket shifted and the glint of a gun barrel stuck in the waistband of his jeans shone across the room. He stood quickly and followed them out of the door, straining to hear their voices as they strode down the corridor.

"I guess you're not your Father's son at heart," he heard Dean murmur good-naturedly, punching Adam lightly on the arm.

"No. I'm my Mom's," Adam shot back, and Sam pulled him into a one-armed hug, hand linking with Dean's as they left the building.

There was a roar and a crunching of gravel as the Impala pulled away from the school gate.

* * *

Back in the school, Ellis's eyes flashed black.

"He's here."

* * *

_finis_


End file.
